Chapter 48: Philip's Journey Back to Lagos
Philip boarded the bus to Lagos under a wide, cloudless afternoon sky. The sun hung like molten gold in the sky, casting long shadows across the faded concrete of the bus park. He kept his hood low, the soft fabric of his jacket brushing against the nape of his neck.
To anyone watching, he looked like a quiet young man returning home.
But beneath his calm expression, Philip was anything but ordinary.
The bus rumbled to life and pulled out of the park. A subtle vibration hummed through the floor and into his bones, familiar, almost nostalgic. He leaned back into the seat, hoping to catch a few hours of quiet on the road.
That didn't last long.
Less than fifteen minutes into the ride, he felt it—mana. Thick, heavy, almost syrupy in the air. It swirled in unpredictable eddies, pressing against his skin like humid mist. At first, he assumed it was a symptom of his growing power. Since his awakening, Philip's perception of the world had sharpened dramatically. He could feel mana like scent on the wind, taste it in his mouth like rain.
The first checkpoint came barely an hour into the trip, nestled at a stretch of road between forests and low hills. A group of men in regular Nigerian police uniforms stood blocking the road with spike strips and armored trucks.
At first glance, they looked normal. Too normal.
But Philip could feel the truth.
They were awakened. Every one of them.
Even before the bus slowed, Philip had already sized them up—two Grandmasters at the rear, a Master standing to the side with his arms crossed, and one at the front who practically radiated control. A Sage-level user.
He was calm, confident, and dangerous.
As the "officers" approached, mana extended from their bodies in wide arcs, sweeping over the bus like a sonar pulse. Philip could feel it brushing against him, probing for essence, bloodline, intent.
Mana signature detection, Philip thought.
They're not looking for weapons. They're looking for people like me.
He controlled his breathing, instinctively drawing his presence inward. Cloaking, muting, folding. He had learned this during his isolation—how to become invisible not to the eye, but to the senses of the powerful.
Their scans passed over him once... twice...
And moved on.
He didn't flinch. He didn't blink.
The rest of the passengers looked out the windows nervously, clutching ID cards and murmuring under their breath. No one caused a scene. They'd seen this before.
After the bus pulled away and the tension eased slightly, Philip leaned toward the man seated beside him. A balding, middle-aged man with glasses and sweat stains under his armpits.
"Is this normal?" Philip asked, voice low.
The man gave him a sidelong glance.
"You don't travel much, do you?" he asked, chuckling without humor. "It's been like this for two years now. Police, army, immigration—all beefed up. But these ones, they're different. Strong. Too strong for just police."
"Why?" Philip asked.
"Some say it's security. Others say they're hunting something. Or someone. Either way, if you look too suspicious, you disappear."
Philip leaned back in his seat, watching the man's aura. Dim. Normal. No hint of awakening. He was a civilian, unaware of the real powers at play.
The bus hit five more checkpoints before it reached Anambra. Each stop was more intense than the last. The road became more congested. Security scanners buzzed faintly at every corner, drones circled overhead. But it wasn't until they crossed into Anambra State that Philip truly sensed the shift.
The air was different.
Alive.
Mana here wasn't just thick—it was charged. Crackling. It filled the streets like invisible fog, moving through people, objects, even buildings. And it wasn't only mana. There were other energies—cold, sharp, ancient. Ether. Divinity. Alchemy. Energies he couldn't even name.
Philip's eyes had evolved during his isolation. Now, they could pierce through lies and glamours. And what he saw unsettled him.
Dozens of people walking the streets were not who they seemed.
An old beggar sitting near a market stall had the pressure of a Grandmaster beneath his tattered robe. A child licking ice cream radiated pure kinetic energy, masked under a childish illusion. Foreigners walked in groups, dressed as tourists, but their steps were measured, their eyes too alert.
He saw a woman in traditional Ankara selling roasted corn at a roadside stand. She smiled at everyone, chatted casually, but the snake coiled around her neck, invisible to most, blinked golden eyes at Philip when he passed.
This wasn't a state.
This was a battleground in waiting.
And the players had already taken their positions.
As the bus continued, Philip stared out the window in silence, watching a group of vehicles pulled to the side. One by one, passengers stepped out and had their entire bodies scanned—not for weapons, but for spiritual signatures. The authorities weren't even trying to hide it anymore.
"This is what Nigeria has become?" he whispered to himself.
"Or has the world always been this way… and I just couldn't see it?"
He clenched his fists, feeling the soft thrum of ether pulsing beneath his skin.